Pieces Of You
by Lugosi
Summary: [ May ] Her thoughts after the guy with the tattoo finds what was in her freezer...


Disclaimer: I don't own. I wouldn't advise reading without watching the movie first, but you can if you really want to...  
  
  
  
**T**he scissors.  
They cut like a hot knife through butter... and there was no thought on her part. Just, oh! Look! There they are! There they are and there you are, hurting me... let's put two and two together, shall we? Oopse! Now they're in your head. Goodbye! And sorry about your hands there...  
The blood.  
There was so much of it. Red, red, everywhere! It was like Alice In Wonderland... painting everything red. It ran like a red river, the knife the thing that broke the dam. It ran like oil down his face, down his chin, down his neck, and pumped and oozed onto his palms before rolling down the side of his hands.  
The crying.  
It stopped. It was almost instantaneous that it stopped. Replaced by quiet and a mouth that curled innocently in a mindless O, eyes that grew a little wider then they should be, empty hands with little drops of warm, sticky liquid on them, absent of the mass of an object previously held. A grown woman replaced with a little girl...  
Him.  
He looked so shocked he could have been in The Scream… and he was all colored red. Painted red by the Queen of Wonderland. Painted red now off with his head. No! Not his head! Off with his arms…  
Her.  
May.  
  
**S**he didn't say a word. She didn't move a muscle. She didn't even breathe... she just watched. There he was, slumping down to the ground. There she was, standing there, slightly hunched, watching him.  
It was taking a long time to register in her mind, what had happened, and most importantly that she had done it. Everything was coming in slow, thoughts flowing in a snailish stream like maple syrup sliding out of the tree.  
She tried to think of it, but she couldn't. She wasn't feeling anything... she wanted to know what she was supposed to, she wanted to know the correct response, she wanted to know how she was supposed to react...  
Of course, that's not to say that she always knew exactly what to do and did it. Often she knew exactly what she was supposed to do but _couldn't_ do it... she was always so shy, so hesitant, so small. She was terrified of doing something wrong; utterly terrified! She wanted to be perfect... she wanted to be perfect all the time but she never could be... so she often ended up the exact opposite.  
The only time she ever truly felt comfortable was with Susie... when it was only she and Susie. Even when she was alone she didn't feel comfortable... she was afraid when she was alone. She hated being alone... but when it was just Susie and her, everything was perfect, everything was just fine... Susie loved her and never judged her... and she loved Susie... even if they got in fights sometimes. They were so much like sisters...  
But what did it matter? Susie was gone now...  
And there was no correct reaction to this situation. There was no easy, understandable sensation that was supposed to be on your mind. It wasn't like when you go to your first day of school, or you spend your first night away from home, or you have your period for the first time, or you're asked on your first date, it wasn't like any of these things... it wasn't like when a pet dies, or when a favored relative comes to visit, either... it was...  
... _Murder_...  
A whimper threatened, but she swallowed it down. She was not afraid of what she should be at this moment. She was not thinking like a normal person. She was not worrying about police, or being caught, or hiding the body, or explaining how it happened. These things never even entered her mind...  
She was afraid of the feeling in her chest, that there was _no_ feeling in her chest.  
She remained silent as she slipped down to the ground slowly, her hand trailing along the cold plastic of the refrigerator, guiding her way to the floor. She stopped when she felt the cold aluminum through the backside of her pants, and allowed her hand to hesitantly twitch off the fridge. In that same nervous, twitchy fashion -– as if she were thinking otherwise and changing her mind every three seconds –- she wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her chin on her knees, still starring at the body on her kitchen floor.  
A small red puddle was gathering.  
She wondered if it would stain...  
That was a brief thought; she couldn't really care too much about that, right now. Apathy was so strong inside her that it almost _burned_ and she didn't know how to handle it. It should have frightened her, but fear was only a weak nub trying to push its way out of her subconscious.  
But the numbness was spreading rapidly, the apathy was taking over, the tear tracks were still so damp on her cheeks. He'd been mean to her... he'd hurt her... so many people had hurt her... so many people... with... perfect... _parts_...  
Perfect parts.  
She raised her head and her light brown eyes widened to almost perfect circles. That was it! That was it! Parts! Perfect parts! Other people... other people had perfect parts... put the parts together... put the perfect parts together.  
But first... first... first...  
First she needed the parts.  
  
**S**he looked up, in that same fidgety manner, at her counter. There was a blender, up there, a toaster, a microwave... and knives...   
Knives.  
A little showcase of knives... knives of several sizes... maybe not perfect knives, but knives that would work… knives that would do the job… they didn't have to be perfect; as long as they would do the job.  
She unwrapped her legs and, with a few little whimpers of effort, used her arms to pull herself up to her hands and knees. She crawled a crossed the room slowly, too fucked up to walk, until she reached just below the counter where the knives were.  
She reared up on her knees so that she could see them. She stretched out an arm, reaching, reaching up, patted the holder, until she found a nice, big handle she though would do the job. She pulled it out, and slumped back on her butt, sitting on her knees.  
She looked at the knife, enchanted, she watched the light dance golden/white on the silver blade, watched her reflection on the metal. Beautiful. It was beautiful. She looked back at the corpse. Ugly. It was ugly... except those arms. She put two and two together and began to crawl towards him, the handle of the knife clenched in her hand, the blade pointing outward from her body.  
Him.  
He was an ugly person, a cruel creation of the modern world who couldn't accept anything different, who couldn't accept anything outside his own little organized scenario... and he didn't deserve the beauty that he had... not at all.  
The knife.  
The knife was the beautiful savior, designed to retrieve these perfect items from their horrible captor. It was the beginning stages of something so beautiful, so perfect, you couldn't even comprehend…  
Her.  
She was the inbetween. She was like The Virgin Mary, designed there to bare and create this perfection of everything God, himself, had screwed up, had been unable to perfect. No, she was not playing God at all... she was fixing his mistakes.  
Amy.  
  
**T**he knife went in, just above the shoulder. Yes, careful not to harm that lovely shoulder. Oh! Look! More blood! It's running down his chest, it's running down his side, it's running all over her hands, it's running down her wrists, it's staining her knife.  
Look at how the knife shines... this truly must be justice! This could be a sign... the knife shines red –- bright, bright red. A red never so bright before –- instead of silver or whitish gold. It shines red, just like the blood running out of his body...  
Now that arm's free. Now the other one; now a chop, now a slice; but all is done carefully. She's not so sure how it's _supposed_ to be done but she does it the best she can.  
She'll look it up later.  
A is for Amputation!  
Chop, chop, slice, slice; there it is. There it is, there is the beauty, there is the perfection, free of the ugly, free of the cruel, free of the beast... and soon to be something so much better.  
  
**T**hat deed was done, she'd taken what she wanted from him. She stood up, bringing the arms with her, and set them down on the counter next to the sink. She slipped out of the room, and grabbed a sheet –- a plain white sheet -– from the linen closet. She came back, and laid that sheet over him. She didn't pay much attention to him after that...  
She went back to the arms, in the sink. She washed them, until all the blood was off of them... then she dried them, and the splotch of blood they'd left on the counter, with paper towels... then she wrapped them in thin white cloth, and stuck them in the freezer with the dead cat.  
The cat.  
It had also been cruel to her... although she hadn't meant to kill it. She'd just been so angry, so she threw the first thing she could find –- the ashtray Petey gave to her –- and she hit it and, Oopse! It was dead.  
Slowly, she slunk away from the kitchen, without another look at him, without another look at the body. Blood was still on her hands, she hadn't bothered to wash her hands, but it was mostly dry by now. She stumbled into the living room, until she couldn't really stumble anymore, and then she dropped down on the floor, sitting oddly.  
It was time to think now. She needed to think now. She needed to think like the smart May she had always been… like the smart May... not this... not the May that had done that to the boy in the kitchen, the one that acted on impulse and feverish ideas.  
She didn't know the other May was gone... well, not _gone_, but fused with the May she was in the kitchen. They were the same person... this new May, the killer, and this old May, the smart one, were one and the same now.  
She tried to think logically, but couldn't. All the parts, all the perfect parts, and all the cruel, ugly people who possessed these perfect parts... all those horrible, false, sluts and jerks... they were all flashing inside of her head... Polly with her perfect neck, fucking that whore Ambrosia, with her perfect legs... Adam with his perfect hands, who lied to her and betrayed her... and more... more... They were taking over.  
And then everything stopped... and everything was silent... and everything was black... because that was the way it could be, if only she simply _took_ those parts... she knew it from the boy in the kitchen... all she had to do was take... and then piece together... and Susie... Susie, too... everyone...  
She lit a cigarette, took a puff, and came to a final decision.  
"I need more parts."  
  
**~ Fin ~**


End file.
